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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803664">pretty boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lervoids/pseuds/lervoids'>lervoids</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Neil Josten, Demisexual Neil Josten, M/M, Neil Josten in a skirt, andrew calls neil pretty boy, i just like to project onto neil okay, theyre soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:42:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lervoids/pseuds/lervoids</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil knows that Andrew finds him attractive... But does he think he's pretty?</p><p>An offhand comment makes Neil realize he likes wearing skirts more than expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>260</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pretty boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hiiii i simply believe in neil (&amp; andrew) in skirts supremacy so i wanted to write this. neil is non-binary, demisexual and autistic in this btw. (yes that is projection) enjoy gay people just being gay.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   “No,” Andrew says, bringing his cigarette to his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil frowns, “Come on, Drew. I’ll buy you ice-cream. I’ll buy you a lifetime supply of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I have never worn jorts in my life, and I intend not to do so any time in the future,” Andrew says, tapping the ash of his cigarette over the edge of the roof, “Nothing you say will change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neils frown only grew, “Not even one thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew doesn’t hesitate on his reply, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nope</span>
  </em>
  <span> falling from his lips as he takes a final drag and then flicks the stub off the roof. </span>
  <span>He stands suddenly and doesn’t beckon Neil to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “The day I wear jorts, is the day you wear a skirt,” are Andrew’s final words as he walks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil knows Andrew doesn’t expect anything of those words; he used them merely for exaggeration purposes, to express the length of his distaste for the denim shorts Neil used to wear. (Allison banned him from wearing them ever again.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But Neil, instead, decides to interpret those words as a challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The day Andrew wears jorts, is the day he will wear a skirt, indeed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   Renee’s jaw drops. They don’t say anything for a moment, and for a split second, Neil worries he’s somehow broken them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What?” They spit out, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him rather harshly into their room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They tug him to their bed and sit down on the end, patting at the spot beside them, asking Neil to sit down too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil does. He fidgets with the end of his sleeve. “I said…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But Renee cuts him off. “I know what you said,” they say. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil looks at them, his head tilting upwards slightly to meet their eyes, “Why what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They stare at him blankly, and Neil urges them to respond, repeating his question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Why on earth do you need a skirt?” They ask, finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Uh—” but Renee cuts him off again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Not that I have a problem with guys wearing skirts, obviously. I’m literally a non-binary lesbian, why on earth would I have a problem with gender non-conformity? I don’t. Just… Curious. It was an unexpected question, is all,” They let out a breath. “Sorry, I cut you off, do tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil’s lips turn up slightly and he nods, “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s just a prank type thing. My gender expression and ‘horrible fashion sense’ aren’t changing anytime soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You say ‘horrible fashion sense’ like Ally is wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He shrugs, “Allison is wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I’m telling her you said that,” They say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Hey! That’s not fair. She’ll kill me if she finds out how little I wear all the clothes she made me buy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Should’ve thought of that before telling her girlfriend such things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil gives up then, nodding before he steers the conversation back in its original direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So…” He says, “Any skirts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Renee stands then, grabbing his arm once more, “Come with me and I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   Renee has so many skirts. Like, a number too high to count. There’s one in every color, and then one in every pattern. Ones that fit their thighs tightly, and ones that resemble the design of a cheerleader skirt. Neil had no idea someone could own so many clothes, let alone </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> skirts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   What he is even more surprised by, though, is how pretty he thinks they are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   How the prank slips from his mind, and he finds himself wanting to wear one simply because.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He wonders if he’ll feel pretty wearing the black and white plaid skirt. He wonders if Andrew will think he looks pretty wearing it, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil has never thought too much about his looks. He prefers not to; with his features being strikingly similar to his fathers, and the scars that litter every inch of his skin. He’s never had to worry about someone else finding him attractive or not. Being demisexual, he hardly thought much about how anyone perceived him beyond a platonic standpoint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Until Andrew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Now, he often wonders if Andrew thinks he’s good looking. I mean, obviously he does, to some degree. His first confession to Neil had been simply an admission of his sexual attraction, so there had to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. He finds him attractive. But does Andrew think he’s pretty?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Does Andrew’s heart pound when he sees Neil, the same way Neil’s does when he sees Andrew?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And now, he wonders if Andrew will think he looks pretty in a skirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Anything specific you need?” Renee asks, pulling Neil from his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He stumbles on his response, “Uh… No, not really— uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They reach out and grab a light blue one from where it’s hanging and holds it against their own legs for Neil to see, “How about this one?” They ask, before jokingly adding on, “It’ll bring out your eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil grimaces, the image of his blue eyes still a raw reminder of his dead father. He makes a mental note to continue working on that, and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Renee holds up three more, asking Neil questions to see which one he wants, but he just continues shaking his head, not muttering a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Renee crosses their arms and groans, “I don’t have all the time in the world to spend helping you pick a skirt for a prank, Neil. Pick a damn skirt and try it on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He doesn’t respond, still, but he awkwardly shuffles to where the row of skirts hang, and stands on his toes to reach for the plaid one he was thinking of before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He takes off his shoes, but stops, noticing Renee is staring right at him. They blink several times, a silent question, before realizing and turning around. </span>
  <span>Neil pulls off his sweats then too, and awkwardly pulls on the skirt, shuffling it up his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So what’s this… Prank, anyways?” Renee asks, still faced away from Neil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He sighs as he pulls up the zip on the side, “Andrew will wear jorts if I wear a skirt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Renee turns suddenly — Neil thanks whatever heavenly force there is that he’d just done up the button above the zip — and their jaw is, once again, practically on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” They yell. “Andrew? Like… Andrew Minyard? Is going to wear Jorts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They’re a blubbering mess, and Neil just nods, his lips pulled into an awkward smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “And in exchange for that, you’re going to wear a skirt?” They ask, still shocked. “I may be a lesbian, but I do in fact hate gay people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil takes a moment to comprehend their words, then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What? No. It’s not like that, I—” Renee laughs, and Neil folds his arms across his sweater. “He just said it because he thought I’d never wear a skirt, and I’m just trying to prove him wrong. I don’t give up that easily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Renee laughs, “I’m pretty sure there are other ways to show that you’re resilient. See first example: the entirety of your first year at Palmetto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil grunts, “Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I can continue on; second example: you’re literally dating Andrew Miny—” This time it’s Neil that cuts them off, as he repeats his, “Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He unfolds his arms, “Now. Help me with this outfit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay, well, first of all, you are not wearing that ugly ass sweater with such a pretty skirt…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   They got carried away. Neil started with the pretty plaid skirt, and then time fell apart, and suddenly he’s standing there, looking at his reflection in Renee’s full length mirror. He’s wearing a skirt, and tucked into it is a skin-tight white shirt. He’s wearing a pair of Renee’s black converses, and his face is decorated with the simplest of make-up (but make-up nonetheless.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He’s shocked to find he likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He hates the way his scars show up on his arms, and peep up past the collar of the shirt. He hates the way the make-up makes the blue of his eyes become only more vibrant, and he hates how exposed his legs feel wearing the skirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He feels vulnerable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   But, he also feels very, very pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Besides, he can be vulnerable around Renee and Andrew. There’s not a chance in hell he’d leave this building looking like this (at least not yet.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He smooths down the skirt against his thighs and smiles at his reflection before turning to face Renee, who is smiling brightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Well don’t you look fucking excellent,” They say. “Andrew is going to go absolutely wild. He’s going to climb you like a tree, Neil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil coughs, shocked. That is <em>not</em> what this is about, and Renee knows that. Then he realizes. Shit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Andrew.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>   This wasn’t meant to happen. He was meant to take a skirt, and go. He was meant to wear the skirt, Andrew the jorts. They were meant to live out the miserable torture they each felt in the clothes, and then move on with their lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He was not meant to get dressed up like this, and he certainly wasn’t meant to feel this pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil’s face pales visibly, and the smile falls from Renee’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil grabs his own clothes from Renee’s floor and stalks off to the bathroom, where he quickly changes and scrubs the make-up off his face until his skin is red and raw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He leaves their room in a rush, leaving the door still swinging with nothing but a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   They don’t discuss it for a week (‘they’, meaning both Renee and Neil, as well as Andrew and Neil.) But that doesn’t mean the thought has left Neil’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s a constant juggle of confusion, and pride, and shame, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>What if Andrew laughs, and then sends me on my way?</span>
  </em>
  <span> God, how fucking stupid he feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And yet, he can’t completely abandon the idea. What if Andrew really thinks he looks pretty? Neil can’t live his life with the feeling engraved into his heart without experiencing Andrew’s reaction too. The two seem to be a pair. A matching set. Neil wants to complete that collection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And so, as they’re sitting in their respective bean bags, a repeat game playing on the television in the background, and a tub of ice-cream in Andrew’s lap, Neil brings the topic back into the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “So, Drew…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew doesn’t move, he doesn’t look at Neil. He just says, “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You know… Last week… When you said that thing about you wearing jorts when I wear a skirt?” Neil asks, nerves showing in his voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get your shit together</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he tells himself. “On the roof? After practice? You said—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I know what I said. I remember,” He says, and then shoves a spoonful of ice-cream into his mouth. He swallows. “What about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I know you were joking… But, it got me thinking and… I’ll do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew turns towards Neil and raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You— you don’t even have to wear the jorts, if you really don’t want to. It’d be great if you held up your end of the bargain, but, I kind of. Want. To wear a skirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew ponders his words for a moment, and he nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   The suggestion hangs heavy in the air around them, like a thick fog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay,” Andrew says, and Neil lets out a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Okay to the skirt?” Neil asks, more as a confirmation to himself rather than an actual question. “And the jorts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew sucks on the silver spoon for a moment, “I said the day I wear those… horrible things is the day you wear a skirt. If one is happening, so is the other. I don’t break promises.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil goes to object, and then realizes he won. </span>
  <span>He lets a smug smile show on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew looks away from him, and into his near-empty tub of ice-cream. “Don’t look at me like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>  “Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew doesn’t answer. They both know well enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   It doesn’t happen for a while. There are classes, practices, and games. And then there’s their roommates, which they can never truly escape. They’d prefer not to be found wearing jorts and a skirt. (Andrew is far more worried about being seen in jorts than Neil is about being seen in a skirt.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   And so, as they do, when they want time away from the craziness which is their life, they head to Columbia. One driver, one passenger, everyone else left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil apologizes to Renee for storming out, and then takes their clothes again, promising to return them, (they said they won’t mind if he keeps them.) (Neil and Renee both know he probably will.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Both men are dressed as their regular selves as they drive away in the Maserati, and they don’t change when they arrive, either. They’re procrastinating far too much for something that was originally supposed to be a silly string of words that died with that conversation. Strangely enough, though, it’s grown into something larger. It feels significant. Something that must be done with caution and careful consideration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Long after the sun has set, they are still yet to change into the outfits sitting at the bottom of Neil’s duffel bag. They don’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   They head up to Andrew’s bedroom, where they kiss until their lips are aching, and then more, until every inch of skin aches too. And then they fall asleep. Andrew against the wall, Neil a foot away, their legs intertwined.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   Neil wakes to Andrew’s movement as he pulls himself out of bed. Neil lets himself lay there sleepily, eyes half-closed, to the sound of the water running as Andrew showers. When he hears the water cut off, he forces himself to sit up. He yawns, and swallows half of the water bottle that’s sat on the nightstand. He doesn’t expect to see Andrew standing there when he pulls his hands away from his face, after scrubbing at his eyes. He certainly doesn’t expect Andrew to be standing there, wearing a t-shirt, his armbands, and Jorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil can’t even try to stifle his laugh, not when it’s already falling from his mouth in a rush. Andrew is not amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Fuck you,” He says, and throws a towel and Neil’s outfit at the other man. “I hate you. Go shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil’s laugh can still be heard as he walks to the bathroom, and then over the rush of water as it starts back up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>   Neil doesn’t really know what to expect when he walks back out, dressed in a pretty white shirt and the plaid skirt to match, but it certainly wasn’t his jaw practically on the floor, the way it was for Renee when he asked them about the skirts in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Okay, so maybe his jaw isn’t on the floor. But it’s certainly dropped, and his cheeks are certainly flushed, and his brain has certainly stuttered to a halt, a scrambled mess with only one coherent thought: Neil Josten in a fucking skirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil flicks his fingers by his sides, looking anywhere but Andrew’s face, somehow still scared his reaction is anything but positive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Neil,” He says, and Neil jerks his eyes up to his. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil hesitates, but he makes his way to Andrew nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yes or no?” and Neil exhales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yes,” he says, and Andrew softly places his hands on Neil’s hips, pulling him forward just a bit, so he’s standing in between his own legs as he sits on his bed. (Their bed?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil watches as Andrew’s face flushes more. He can almost see Andrew’s throat choking on its own words, forcing them down while Andrew tries to force them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil extends his hand towards Andrew’s face, slowly, giving him time to pull away, but he doesn’t. He sinks his fingers into the damp blond hair and meets Andrew’s eyes. He hates eye contact, but he can stomach it with Andrew. He loves it with Andrew, really. It sends a buzz of warmth up his spine rather than the usual shrill of discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You don’t have to say anything, Drew,” Neil reassures him. “You can take off the shorts, and I can take off the skirt—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “No,” he says. “So long as you want to be wearing it, I want to see you in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil goes blank. His mind goes blank, his face goes blank, everything goes blank. The world around him disappears, and all that really matters is Andrew. </span>
  <span>All he can say is, “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew nods. They don’t break eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Standing with Andrew’s hands on his hips, he feels his grip tighten, and pulls his hand from its place in the other’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Drew, if you’re uncomfortable—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You look pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   It’s blank times one thousand. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Fuck you. Don’t make me say it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   His words don’t quite match his actions, not when he lets go of Neil’s hips, and uses his hands to drag the other’s up to rest on his shoulders, before grabbing onto him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You think I’m pretty?” Neil asks, and the words are scarce of sarcasm or anything of the like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew answers his question with a question, eyes flickering down to Neil’s lips, “Yes or no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew pushes one hand up Neil’s back around his neck and then pulls him down to meet their lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>   They kiss for ages. Seconds, minutes, hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew thinks Neil is the prettiest person in the world. Neil has caught onto this now. With the way Andrew stares as Neil heads to the kitchen to get more ice-cream, and he mutters the words ‘pretty boy’ at least a dozen times. Neil has caught onto this now, with the way Andrew willingly wears jorts the rest of their stay, just to keep seeing Neil in that damn skirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil feels pretty. He wonders why he never really thought about feeling pretty before, considering how wonderfully he aches with the feeling of it. It’s something he’ll possibly have to ask Renee about. What was it they mentioned? Gender nonconformity? Neil isn’t sure what the extent of those words entails, but he feels they may be what he’s looking for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “What are you thinking about?” Andrew asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil looks up at him, from where his head is laying in Andrew’s lap as they sit on the sofa. For once, Andrew doesn’t look away. He can’t stop staring. Sappy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil just hums in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “Was all this just a ploy for you to wear a skirt? You could have just told me, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil smiles and shakes his head, “No. It was genuinely just supposed to prove I would live up to your stupid statement on the roof. A challenge I could succeed at,” he explains. “I didn’t expect to like wearing a skirt, and I didn’t expect you to think it’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew swallows hard, “I always think you’re pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Fucking hell, how many times will Neil’s mind be wiped blank in one day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “You do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew says nothing and looks away. Neil doesn’t speak either. It’s silent for a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   “I like it. If you want to wear it again, I— would not be… Opposed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil smiles again, “Okay,” he says, and pokes Andrew’s cheek. “Yes or no?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew faces him once more, muttering a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, junkie</span>
  </em>
  <span> before getting lost in Neil’s lips once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>   Neil wears the skirt often, now. (He did indeed keep it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   Andrew bought him some new ones, too. Neil wears them whenever it’s just the two of them. He wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to wear one around anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>   He thinks, if Andrew holds his hand, and calls him ‘pretty boy’ again, one day, maybe he can.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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